The Depression of Dr. Caligari

Author's Note: This short story is loosely inspired by and borrows elements from the 1920 German horror film, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

ACT I

"God, what the hell am I doing? You're married..."

A man washes his face in the bathroom of a Red Lobster. The one he and his wife went to for their first anniversary dinner.

The man looks down at his beer spilled shirt, and realizes that some of it trickled down to his pants.

"It's not my fault she was so hot. Any one would go for her. It’s not like this is a serious thing."

In a huff, the man goes into the stall to change. An older man walks in.

"Excuse me. I saw what happened with you and the waitress. It's happened to me before, and it isn't fun. Especially on a date, ha ha."

He taps on the only closed stall door.

"Do you need a hand tidying yourself?"

A short, pudgy man in black with bulging, beady eyes behind mad scientist glasses emerges from the stall. A top hat rests perfect atop his head of aged, wispy, white hair.

He taps the ground with his cane and puts a big, cartoonish, white gloved hand to the old man's face.

The old man tries in vain to wrap his head around this figure that stands before him.

The short man's mouth twists into a sadistic smile. His eyes turn like a dagger on the old man.

"Oh, I, Dr. Caligari, require no help from a common man!"

Caligari pushes the old man into the wall. He emerges out of the bathroom, marking his entrance like an actor on a grand stage.

Everyone in the Red Lobster pays no attention, but every bit of an annoyed mind.

A brown haired Hispanic woman gets up from her seat as Caligari approaches her booth.

"I'm sorry, old man, this is not your booth."

"You are correct! I am simply here for that bag."

Caligari raises his cane and gestures to the bag. The woman gives a shudder as Caligari's Cheshire smile remains.

"Look, just leave, okay? I don't...I don't know where Jere..."

Caligari puts a glove to the woman's mouth and lava bellows from his gaze.

"That is not who I am. I am Caligari."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I simply want the bag! Give it to me, and I shall leave!"

"It's not yours!"

"I still need it! I need to reach my Cesare!"

The woman pulls a phone out as a waitress walks up to the booth.

"Pardon me, ma'am, is this gentleman bothering you?"

"Yes! Kick his creepy ass out, please!"

"Sir, back off from this woman."

Caligari gives a bow to the waitress, looking up with a sneer as he swirls his black cape before his face.

"Certainly, certainly! Just as soon as I get this bag back!"

"It's not his! The man who had it rushed to the bathroom!"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I have committed no harm here. I'm simply trying to reach my Cesare!"

"Sir, please get out."

Caligari reaches an arm down to the bag. The waitress tries to yank Caligari's grip off of it, but he manages to retrieve it.

Caligari pulls back from the waitress and gestures his arms out beside him in a victorious display.

"You can't stop me! Nothing can! I am the great, the only, Dr Caligari; the only one I must be!"

The Hispanic woman calls the police as the waitress looks on in horror at this strange man.

Caligari shoves the waitress out of his way, bolting out the main door into the night. His malicious cackles coat the thick air.

Caligari is free.

END OF ACT I

ACT II

Jasmine sits expectantly on the sofa, with a sadness and anger doing a pirouette in her eyes.

Caligari bursts inside the house and looks down upon Jasmine. He removes his top hat and brushes it down to the side of him, bowing before her.

"Cesare, I am home."

"What happened to getting back at 9pm, Jeremy?"

Caligari drops his hat and slams a hand to his heart. He twists his neck about, balancing himself up by his cane.

Caligari adjusts his head and locks into Jasmine with a deathly stare.

"I. am. Dr. Caligari!"

"Yes, sure you are, Jeremy."

Caligari gives a violent grunt. Caligari raises his cane to Jasmine's eyes before swooping it down to his feet.

"Why are you awake, Cesare? I need you asleep for my grand plan!"

"Ugh, this somnabull-shit whatever again..."

"It is the only way I can be Caligari!"

"You don't need to be him.""

"Oh, you are mistaken, Cesare! This town awaits someone to clutch it by its throat! I am that someone, but are you still my Cesare?"

"I have never been "your Cesare."

"Oh, but you are! For only then can we ascend beyond this plane, into the stars where mortals can look at us and lust! Lust, I say, for our magnificence! All shall fear and love us!"

"Why, why are you always going on with this shit?! I'm not your fucking puppet!"

"This is not puppetry, Cesare, it is the power of somnabulism! For the legend utters-"

"No, you Mickey Mouse gloved fuck! You shut up and listen!"

Caligari crosses his arms.

"Every time I seem to settle, you come back and try to shove me in a box so you can parade me around as your hapless partner in crime! I've been nothing to you but a sleeping beauty to play with, all so you can live out this perverted dream of yours!"

Caligari rolls his eyes and puts his hands to his sides.

"Your ambition is low, Cesare. Alas, why you have me! To give you purpose!"

"Yeah, right. You ever stop to think that maybe the only one you're giving purpose to with all this crap is you, Jeremy?"

Caligari drops his arms and approaches Jasmine.

"I am..."

"No, you're Jeremy, god damn it! You're Jeremy!"

Caligari holds back tears. His gloved hands curl up with thunderous shakes.

"I loved you once, Jeremy. We were happy together! You seemed like you were together! You used to be somebody! Now, Jeremy…God...Jeremy..."

Caligari whacks Jasmine upside her head with his cane, growling and panting for breath.

"CALIGARI! CALIGARI! I AM CALIGARI!"

Jasmine weeps into the carpet. She melts into the floor in mourning.

"I must be Caligari! We can bring this town to its knees! Make it weep at our feet! If only, Cesare, you could sleep!"

"You're already putting me through a nightmare..."

Caligari throws his cane down to the floor. He then jumps up onto a small kitchen chair, clapping his hands.

"Yes! Yes, Cesare! We will paint the world into a nightmare, unlike anyone could ever do! This town is only the beginning!"

Caligari cackles and puts his arms to the air above him.

"Let us ascend, Cesare!"

"I'm your wife! I'm your goddamn wife..."

"Rest your eyes, Cesare! Rest them! Let our terror begin!"

"I...I'm done with you."

Caligari swoops his arms down. He then looks at Jasmine with an intensive gaze. 

"You're lost. I thought I could bring you back, but I can't do this. I love you, Jeremy, but I can't do this to myself. I don't want to be Cesare. I will never be your Cesare."

Caligari jumps down from the chair. He looks down to the floor, holding his hands.

Jasmine wipes her nose, then gets up off the floor slowly. She looks at Caligari in surprise. It is as if she's never seen him act this way.

"Listen...it's never too late to steady yourself. I know that you thought being with me, keeping this place, it would all be enough. Only you can pull yourself together. I can only do so much."

Jasmine cautiously puts her hand down by Caligari. Caligari does nothing. Jasmine then grips his gloved hand, gentle.

"I don't really want to leave you-but if you keep going like this, having these nights, you leave me no other option."

Jasmine raises Jeremy's hand to her chest.

"You understand, Jeremy?"

"...Yes."

Jeremy lets go of Jasmine's hand and turns away into the hall behind him.

"I'm going to bed."

Jasmine looks on with an endless stare. She catches every detail she can of Jeremy in his short, slow walk before he turns into his room.

Jasmine takes deep breaths in and out as she soon follows suit.

Jasmine tosses and turns in her bed for an hour. Her eyes then begrudgingly shut.

END OF ACT II

ACT III

"I'm off, Jazzy."

"Okay, Jeremy. Take care. Don't work yourself too hard."

"I won't."

Jeremy sat alone on a near empty light rail. A colorful cast of people come on and off on the way. A few usual faces, most not.

Jeremy got off at his usual stop to walk his usual walk over to his usual desk job.

Jeremy gets the usual greeting from the receptionist at the front. He gives his usual insincere nod.

He plops down at his desk. The hours fly. His soul flies faster from him.

A coworker approaches him as he leaves midway into his shift for the bathroom.

"Heya, Jeremy, how are you doing?"

Jeremy stands in front of them, unaffected by this question.

"Well, anyway, I was going to have a get-together with some of the boys. You remember Jake, Pitt, and Phil, right?"

Jeremy's eyes are locking on his friend, but his spirit drifted from them. It had been from the moment he left the door of his apartment, and it’s still going.

"Yeah."

"Jeremy, you don't seem okay, what's going on?"

In his head, Jeremy swims for that spirit. His arms burn to the point of looseness. He can feel that they will rip from his body any second. The wind around him gets harder to take into his lungs. Splashes of water leap into his throat and suffocate him. Alas, the spirit gets too far. Jeremy drowns.

"Nothing. I just need to use the restroom."

"Jeremy, if you ever need to talk about things, I can contact someone for you. I know some people who can help you through whatever it is you may be dealing with."

"No, I'm fine."

Jeremy walks past his friend, his shoulder hitting theirs.

Jeremy gets out of the bathroom and catches his friend. He pulls the bathroom door in front of him. Jeremy peeks a single eye through the sliver. He sees his friend laughing with another coworker.

"Fake friend. He doesn't care. He doesn't want to understand."

Jeremy waits for him to turn away. When he does, Jeremy pushes open the bathroom door. He hugs the wall and takes a long way around to his desk.

Jeremy spends the rest of work hunched over, down just enough where his head is blocked from view.

The work day ends. Jeremy speed walks out the door and makes his usual journey to the light rail. Jeremy pushes meekly through a crowd of rail riders and finds one open seat.

A scruffy, bearded man who smells of dried piss and whiskey gets up in Jeremy's face, trying to start a fight.

"You want a piece of me, smart guy?"

Jeremy says nothing.

"Think you're too good to handle me, huh?"

Jeremy gets his shoulder spit on.

"Eh, what now, fucker?"

Jeremy just sits there.

"Eh, fucking pussy! Any sorry sack wants to fucking go, come at me, cock-suckers!"

The rail security comes on by the next stop and kicks the piss smelling man out.

As soon as the rail continues without him, Jeremy lets out a single tear.

The rest of the ride proceeds with uneventfulness. Jeremy gets off and heads home.

Jeremy opens the door to his apartment to the smell of warm meatloaf.

"Hi, love! Was work okay?"

"Business as usual."

"Well that's good!"

"As....usual..."

"How's Andy? He talk with you at all?"

"....Not at all."

"Oh...well, I'm sure he was just busy."

"Yep. All it was."

Jeremy sits quiet on the kitchen table. A half-eaten piece of meatloaf lays before him. Jasmine stops eating, seeing Jeremy sitting with a blank expression.

"Hey, love. Is the meatloaf okay? I may have overcooked it a small bit. You know how I am with it sometimes."

Jasmine gives a light, playful chuckle.

"It's fine."

Jasmine gives a tired sigh.

"I hope work wasn't anything too crazy."

"...perfectly normal."

"What is normal anymore?"

Jasmine clears her throat.

"So, love, I was actually thinking about something."

"...What?"

"You know those songs you used to love writing and recording? Do you still have those saved somewhere?"

"Maybe...why?"

"You should pick that back up again, love. Your work was beautiful. I think with some polishing touches, you could make them into something great. Hell, maybe it’d even inspire you to make new songs."

"No one will pick them up..."

"Oh, you can't talk like that! You never know until you get it out there."

"No one will understand them."

"What do you mean? Art is subjective, of course everyone will get something different out of-"

"No."

"Love, what are you talking about?"

"I don't know."

"Do you need to discuss something with me?"

"No."

"Then what do you mean? Please talk to me. Give me something to work with here."

"I don't know what to give."

"Just tell me how you're feeling. Talk about what's going on. What's aching you?"

"I don't know what's aching me."

"Why not?"

"I don't...know me."

"What?"

"I thought I did. I don't."

Jasmine reaches a hand across the table for Jeremy to take.

"Love, it's okay to not know the person you want to be. It's not like you're an old man. You and I, we still have a lot of life left ahead of us."

Jeremy puts his head in his hands. Jasmine pulls back her hand.

"How do you live a life if you don't know what it's about..."

"What did you say, love?"

Jeremy takes his hands off of his face. He leans back in his chair.

"Nothing."

Jasmine focuses back on the meatloaf in front of her.

"I'm telling you, love, get back into writing songs. I think it'd be good for you. It might help you find yourself."

"There's nothing in me worth finding...there is no me."

"What about tomorrow, after work, we start workshopping one of your songs together?"

"...Fine."

"Oh, lovely! I can't wait to re-listen to your material! God, how long has it been since I've heard it?"

Jeremy sighs out what's left of his being.

"Long enough to leave them where they should be."

Jeremy doesn't actually say that.

Jeremy gets up from his chair.

"I'm going to head to bed early tonight."

"You don't want to finish your meatloaf?"

"I had a big lunch."

Jeremy goes to sleep three hours later, after listening to music on his phone all night to feel anything. It doesn't work. Jeremy would cry, if there was anybody to cry for.

END OF ACT III

ACT IV

Halfway through work, Andy comes around Jeremy's desk.

"Hey, Jeremy! How are we feeling today?"

Jeremy doesn't acknowledge Andy's presence.

"It's too bad you missed our last get-together, man. It was so much fun! We played some Monopoly, well, they played, I more so went into poverty!"

Andy gives a dry laugh.

"Then we watched The Shining and ate pizza! You should've been there! It was a riot! Maybe next time you can come, Jeremy!"

Jeremy's muscles tense up.

"Oh, hey, I want you to meet somebody.”

“Fuck off…”

“I actually met her at lunch yesterday, down at the McDonald's! We talked for a good hour before I realized I had to be back at work!"

Jeremy puts both hands on his face and rubs it hard. He does it to make Andy and this mystery woman go away. When he opens his eyes, they catch the sight of a brunette with crimson hair and green eyes.

"Jeremy, this is Samantha."

"Hey, man, 'sup?"

Jeremy gets up from his desk and rushes to the bathroom.

Andy looks on with concern and follows after Jeremy with Samantha.

"Is he alright? Did I say something?"

"No, no, no, I think he's just off. I don't know what it is. I think we just need to do something, you know? Take his mind off things for a while."

"Ah, have a little wind down sesh, I get it."

Andy taps on the bathroom door.

"Jeremy? Jeremy, are you alright?"

No answer.

Andy taps again.

"Come on, man, you're starting to worry me here. Just come on out and whatever is fucking you up, we can talk through it."

Andy taps on the door again, and then reaches for the door handle.

"I'm coming in there, man. I think we need to talk."

Before Andy can pull the door open, it slams right in his face. He goes to the floor hard on the back of his head.

"Oh, good God!"

Samantha kneels down by Andy.

"Hey, man, what the hell?! You might have concussed-"

As Samantha looks up, Caligari's wicked grinning face latches onto her eyes.

"Hey, man, who the hell are you?"

"I am Caligari! The one and only, once a willing somnabulist makes themself known to me! Then we shall bring down the world before us!"

Caligari places a gloved hand onto Samantha's shoulder.

"Well, madam, what say you? Will you be my Cesare?"

___________________________________________

This is the hell the two share. Trapped in roles they can't understand. Stuck in a world that won't let either understand them.

Until Jeremy can reach that spirit in his ocean, gaze upon all its ugliness and divinity, and embrace it, Caligari will live on. For as the essence drifts away, it is the only dream anyone can have.

To be Caligari.

Only Caligari.

END